Drought
by just-nikki
Summary: It's been a long, hard summer. Drought takes and takes until there's nothing left. It's unrelenting. Unforgiving. But it's almost over. Draco/Harry


The electricity crackles in the air like popcorn. Humidity permeates every crack and corner so thickly it feels like the city is underwater. On the horizon, clouds gather in meeting, but the storm will disperse before it ever reaches the skyline. The drought will not be quenched tonight.

From his balcony, Draco can watch the storm begin to roll in. He runs his fingers along the protruding veins of his plants, and the lines in his face deepen. He's not one for watering plants. He likes things to sink or swim on their own, but this philosophy is killing his hydrangeas. He sighs and lifts the watering can, although this sprinkle can hardly revive them now.

"I can feel you looking at me," he says wearily, dumping the remainder of the water onto his primroses. They died a week ago, but he can't bring himself to let them go just yet.

Harry slides the door shut and steps out onto the roof. "I don't know much about plants-"

Draco huffs.

"I don't know _anything_ about plants," Harry amends. "But I know that that is one dead primrose."

"I know," Draco says evenly, his voice not betraying any emotion. "It came from a cutting."

"Alright…" Harry replies slowly, not sure where this is leading. He waits patiently for Draco to finish.

"It came from a cutting from the manor. From my mum's greenhouse."

"Oh."

Draco nods and finishes watering, knocking the last few brittle petals to the ground. He sets the watering can down and turns suddenly to Harry, but doesn't speak.

"Dinner, love?" Harry asks finally, stepping forward and brushing Draco's hair from his forehead. "It's a bit warm out here, don't you think?"

"No, I think I'll… I think I'll stay out a little longer," Draco replies, stepping away from Harry's touch. He reaches out a hand towards the brittle stalk of a primrose. "It looks like it might rain."

Harry shakes his head and starts for the door. "Doubtful. Come in soon, alright? You'll get heat exhaustion out here." He watches Draco's still frame for another moment before disappearing inside. Draco's been growing increasingly distant. Maybe it's the weather.

From his spot, Draco can see almost the whole city. He paid more for the view than the flat, although he did not skimp on his living space either. The city is dead. Its inhabitants only venture out when necessary, the weather making any kind of trek unbearable.

Draco sighs, exhausted. It's been impossible to sleep with this heat. Even in the cool confines of the air-conditioned flat, the humidity seeps into your bones. His flowers are dead and he feels that way. It's too hot to move, but he won't go in. His fingers close around the stalk of a primrose and he pulls it free from the soil, ignoring the thorns. He studies it carefully.

His mother would be so disappointed.

The primrose falls to the ground and Draco considers stepping on it. His mother loved him so much, he tells himself.

Loved.

She's dead now. Just a week ago. Unknown causes officially, but Draco knows better. She had hated herself for a very long time. While the world had forgiven her- without her, Harry Potter would be dead- she had never forgiven herself. Draco has her last letter in the top drawer of his desk. It says only, _I'm so proud of you_.

Of course she was. She always had been. His mother's love had always been the only love he'd never had to earn. His father always had impossible standards, get the top grades, be the best Seeker, beat Hermione, beat Harry, beat everyone, never question, never fail. Even Harry, now constant and unquestioning, had at first needed reassurances that Draco felt the way he said he felt, that he wouldn't leave, that he wouldn't betray him.

Draco grips the balcony wall and closes his eyes. He lets his head fall to his hands, his forehead resting on his clenched knuckles. He feels like he's suffocating.

When he finally goes in for dinner, Harry politely ignores his red-rimmed eyes and hands him a glass of wine. Draco sets the glass on the table and instead pulls himself against Harry's chest, hugging him tightly.

"I love you," he says firmly.

"I know," Harry replies, running his fingers through Draco's hair.

Outside, it starts to rain.

* * *

Thanks to the lovely Katie for the beta read!


End file.
